


December 30

by doctor__idiot



Series: 12 Days of Wincestmas 2018 [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-10-07 07:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17361752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Sam can't bring himself to call.





	December 30

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd. Not even proofread.

Sam didn’t cry when Dean drove him to the bus stop in the early hours of the morning. He didn’t cry when Dean dropped him off unceremoniously with a mumbled goodbye and skidding tires on the turnaround.

He didn’t cry while he waited for the bus to come to take him away to a place he’d never been to, never seen, and probably won’t ever be able to call home. He didn’t cry on the long ride to California or when milling among the other arrivals on the large campus. Not during introductions, not upon getting to know his new roommate – Sam was used to sharing a room but never with a stranger, never not with Dean.

Not once throughout the semester did he cry, classwork piling up and nearly burying him because he wasn’t used to working like this, trying to wrap his brain around the mundane things. He only knew perfectionism, wasn’t allowed to make mistakes, because if you made mistakes _out there_ , you ended up dead. Or worse, someone else might. Someone he loved.

The ever-mounting loneliness made him feel sick and exhausted but tears never made their way down his cheek.

Then, Christmas rolled around, leaving him bereft and empty, and it was good that his friends, _friends_ – or rather, the people he knew, went home over the break. It was too quiet, almost peaceful, but Sam didn’t have the energy to be restless.

The semester was nearing its end and Sam was dreading it. Didn’t know what to do with himself.

When he got up in the morning on January 24, it was snowing outside. It was falling thickly but Sam thought he could make out silhouettes in the whiteness, playing with the flakes and rolling balls to make snowmen.

He would never put it down in the calendar but he knew it was his brother’s birthday. It wasn’t significant, they weren’t the kind of family to celebrate these things – Sam vaguely remembered John giving Dean a bottle of fine whiskey for his twenty-first, which counted as a big deal – but he wanted to call nonetheless. He could give anything to hear his brother’s voice.

But he couldn’t. Because they told him to get out. Because hadn’t called or texted in six months and neither had Sam. Because he was too much of a coward to break the silence, to end the stalemate.

So he cried. He dropped his phone from his fingers to the carpet and followed on his knees and wept. Wept for what he had lost due to his own selfishness. Wept for what could have been, if only Dean wasn’t so proud and Sam wasn’t so stubborn.

He sobbed until there were no tears left. Picked up his phone, himself, and went out into the snow.

 

 


End file.
